


Never Touch the Models

by mrhiddles



Series: Tumblr Fic Prompts [7]
Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Ficlet, M/M, Model Thor, One Shot, POV Loki (Marvel), Sculpture, Sick Loki (Marvel), Tumblr Prompt, sculptor Loki
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-28
Updated: 2018-11-28
Packaged: 2019-09-01 18:10:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16770253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrhiddles/pseuds/mrhiddles
Summary: Loki only has so long to complete a marble sculpture. When his last model doesn't work out, he hires Thor for the job.





	Never Touch the Models

**Author's Note:**

  * For [seidrade](https://archiveofourown.org/users/seidrade/gifts).



> Prompt: "Thorki prompt: Loki is an acclaimed figure sculptor with a commission from a top patron— one with whom he desperately needs to curry favor. At first, the model he hires seems like the perfect fit: tall, blonde, glorious physique. But then an unforeseen difficulty arises... (Any era you like!) xx"
> 
> I feel lowkey odd basing a story in my local area. (??)

The first time the chisel slips from his hands, his model is licking his lips at him from three feet away. It’s not that he’s hard to look at, not at all, but there is a time and place for everything. And when carving, there is no place for lasciviousness or eroticism. And certainly not a hand stroking a dick.

He fires the model on the spot, once he lowers his wavering hand to sit, still, on his lap. The model pulls on his robe in a huff and dresses in the renovated corner closet quickly, swearing at him in French on the way out the door.

The second time, he’s spinning his chisel between his fingers, bored, mind on other things. He chalks it up to carelessness.

The third time it slips from his shaking fingers, he just stands there, staring at where the traitorous tool landed. One palm, sweaty and slipping over the smooth marble underneath, is ready to smash the profile he’s spent the better part of two months on to the ground. He wants to crush it, grind down every scattered piece to dust and pour it out onto the grass, like spreading ashes.

But then his client would be pissed, so he doesn’t do that.

He puts an ad online for another model.

\--

He gets a call that night as he’s making dinner. Stale noodles and beef stock. Had to throw out the broccoli because there was mold.

“Hello, is this Loki?” There’s a pause. “From _bosquet de sculptures légères_?”

Loki winces at the man’s pronunciation, pinches the fabric on the inside of his jeans pocket. “That works.”

“I’m calling about your ad?” the man says, sounding like a question. “Are you still needing a model?”

Loki leans back against his kitchen counter. “Describe your physique.”

Without missing a beat, the man says, “Tall, broad shouldered, fit. I work out a lot.”

“Do you take steroids?”

“No, I stay far away from that shit,” and it sounds like he means it. “My name is Thor Friggason. I’ve been modeling on the side for a few years now. I know the drill.”

Loki glances down at his pot of boiling water, noodles floating and bloated. The name sounds familiar for some reason. “You’re hired.”

They exchange information. He has a model again.

\--

The fourth time he drops the chisel, he catches it in his other hand. Looks quickly to see if Thor saw it.

He did.

“How long have you been carving?” Thor asks him as he’s walking around Loki’s little studio.

Loki white-knuckles the tool to keep it steady.

He’s had this place for eight years. Little rental at the edge of San Francisco. It came complete with non-disclosed leaky roofs and angry doormen that sell copies of the tenants’ keys for cheap to the scammers out front. It keeps him on his toes with security, but he’s here most of the time anyway.

“Six years. I tried painting, but I’m shit at it. Never got the hang of oils.”

“Should’ve switched to watercolors, then,” Thor says. He smirks and Loki likes him. “You’re good.”

Thor traces the roughest edge of the profile sitting uncovered in the middle of the white tarp he’s laid out. He needs to sweep but can’t bring himself to. The stone is bad to breathe in. He does it anyway.

“It pays my rent, which is more than most can say in this town.”

“You rent two places here?”

“No. My commute is about three hours each way but I sleep here most nights besides. Hardly matters.”

Loki notices Thor’s gaze lingering on something behind him. It could be his dying houseplant or the orange bottle of pills by his stack of notebooks. He steps in front of the pills.

“You seem to know your way around a studio,” Loki says, some force in his voice that he hopes Thor understands. “How about we get started.”

Thor switches his gaze to him instead. “Sounds great.”

Loki reaches for his sketchbook and pencils, sets the chisel down in their place.

Thor strips right there and he wasn’t lying. He tells Thor it’s not necessary to be completely nude for the job, but he just shrugs and says it helps with his movement. He thinks about it.

Loki eyes the sternal head and trapezius and decides he’ll do. Ignores the smooth lines of his inguinal crease. Looks away from the hair at his groin. Reminds himself the sculpture wasn't a full body piece and that he shouldn't be sad about that.

He sketches Thor for two hours before Thor’s stomach growls. Thor offers to buy them some takeout. They agree to meet up the next morning.

\--

He only needs to sketch for another hour before he’s got it down. He dreamt about Thor’s long neck the night before and he woke up starving.

He instructs Thor to lean in the appropriate position he wants and starts on the shoulders.

“How long does one of these usually take you?” Thor asks, because Loki’s already done with the face and only needs Thor for the body. He’s free to babble as much as he pleases. “Last girl said she spent ten years on one thing. Far as I could tell all she managed was a large kneecap.”

Loki feels himself barely smiling. “This will be my largest, so I’m not sure. My others usually take me anywhere from ten months to two years.”

“Is this a personal project?”

“Hardly,” he huffs. “Client’s a bastard who wants a rush job. I’m to check in with him every two weeks.”

“Huh.”

“This one is only a bust, but he wants it to replace where his grand piano used to be.”

“Sounds like a snob,” Thor says.

Loki raises his eyebrows. “He really is.”

His fingers jerk, sporadic for a moment as the hammer skitters across the stone. It leaves a barely-there slash in the marble and he feels panic well up sudden and vivid in his chest.

“You okay?”

Loki nods quick, probably too quick. If he speaks right now, he knows it won't be loud enough, won't sound clear enough. He can feel Thor’s eyes on him and he wants to slink away, out the door. Wants to dive in with the seals at the pier. It’d be easier to move there.

“No one to laugh at me,” he mutters under his breath.

He chances a look at Thor and the way he’s watching him then is so severe, Loki knows he’s heard every word.

“Let me know if you need a break,” Thor calls a little too loudly.

Loki goes back to scraping his chisel, smoothing away his mistake.

“You know,” Thor says after a while. “My mother taught me piano as a kid.”

“Is that right.”

“She had a grand piano too, is all,” he continues, sounding far away.

\--

It’s the third week of carving when Thor brings him coffee.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Loki tries.

Thor waves him off. “My treat. It’s getting colder after all.”

It reminds Loki to bring out the heaters because Thor still insists on not wearing any pants. He can see the gooseflesh on his ass and he shakes his head at the chilly fool.

“Straighten your back,” Loki instructs ten minutes in.

Thor does.

“No, not leaning that way. To the left.”

Thor adjusts.

Loki eyes him and brings his hand back to the blocked out juncture that’s starting to look like the jugular notch. His index finger isn’t wanting to sit still. He holds his breath and tries again, looks back at Thor and—

“You’re slouching,” he sighs, standing.

He goes to Thor and Thor looks annoyed.

“I’m sitting same as last session.”

“No, you’re not. May I?” Loki holds his hands out.

Thor nods, unbothered by the unusual request. Never touch the models. Loki knows that.

“Like this,” he breathes. He knows he sounds angrier than he really is. As he presses lightly on Thor’s lower back, then on the breadth of his pectorals, it happens. Happens again. It doesn’t usually happen twice in a row.

His fingers stutter a beat across Thor’s heart and his wrist shakes, unsteady.

Thor notices. He notices because he always does.

Loki is too shocked to oppose when Thor gently grabs up Loki’s hand on his chest. He places his other hand on top and he’s warm.

He looks so concerned then and Loki wants to break his fucking window. Throw the hammer straight through until it hit the street below.

“Loki,” he starts but Loki cuts him off.

“I can’t afford treatment until I get paid my commission,” he explains, sounding hollow. “I can’t get paid until I finish this.”

Thor’s eyes shine and goddamn him for it. For caring. They don’t know each other.

Thor just gets him coffee. And talks about his mother. And sometimes brings them dinner when their sessions stretch too far into the evening. He always insists it’s not a problem for his commute home.

Loki doesn’t even know where Thor lives.

“Where do you live?” he asks.

Thor doesn’t blink. “Oakland.”

Loki nods. Thinks it's good Thor only has a short commute of twenty minutes on the SFO/Millbrae train. Easy. Not like his, a test of endurance from Sacramento. He's glad Thor doesn't have to waste so much time to reach him. He's not worth it anyway.

He tries to fight down his shiver when Thor brings one hand up to spread over his jaw, his cheek, his hair, holding him. No one’s ever held him.

“How long do you have to finish it?”

It’s two questions and Loki knows it.

“We should grab breakfast sometime,” Loki says in place of an answer, swallowing. “Let’s get back to work.”

Thor lets him go.


End file.
